


I LIKE THE PLAY OF NEON ON HIS SKIN

by Queenoftheuniverse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dancing, Drinking, M/M, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 03:04:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3962023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenoftheuniverse/pseuds/Queenoftheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John dances. Sherlock watches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I LIKE THE PLAY OF NEON ON HIS SKIN

I LIKE THE PLAY OF NEON ON HIS SKIN

Sherlock liked to watch John dance.

Maggie, one of his homeless, always let him know when John was dancing at the club. Sherlock often deduced that was where John was off to when he left the house, but it was best to wait for Maggie to confirm Johns destination. 

It was part of the game. 

The game only he, and yes he supposed Maggie to some extent, played. John's role was incidental. 

And, weirdly, pivotal.

Sherlock was unsure why John did this, danced in a gold cage above a pumping dance floor, but the ways of most humans confused Sherlock. All the Detective knew was he liked to watch. 

John was a popular dancer. Cheers would go up when his cage ascended from the floor like a lift and John would smile. 

Most nights he would smile. 

Some nights he waved. 

Tonight, he merely rode the cage up, hands gripping the bars, eyes closed.

John looked lovely as always in his combat boots and socks, tight gold booty shorts and dog tags. 

It was all he needed. 

It got hot up there, Sherlock knew. 

It was why he himself never wore his Belstaff, just a crisp white shirt.

The heat in here always rose and for Sherlock, it rose suddenly when John danced. 

He knew why. 

He was not entirely stupid when it came to these feelings.

John never opened his eyes when he danced. It looked like he felt the music. And although he was dressed mind meltingly sexy, he was not overtly crude in his movements. 

Rather than thrust his hips, he curved his spine. 

Rather than rub his hands over himself, he placed his hands on chest, ribs, stomach, the gold of his chest fur glinting, his skin gleaming, his compact little body straining and...

Sherlock took a big gulp of his drink. 

Christo, vodka! 

He nearly coughed it back up, but managed to keep it in. A bit went up his nose and made his eyes water, but that just made John look prettier. 

The neon lights hit Johns body like bruises, blue and yellow and orange, in time to the song. 

The beat was large, the thrum like the very heart of the club, and Sherlock liked it. 

Really liked it. 

It was primal.

Sherlock was pretty sure that wanting to watch John dance like this was sexual in nature. 

He had fleeting ideas as to what he wanted to do to John dressed as he was, moving as he was, shiny as he was, but no real connection to the actual act of sex. 

Nothing so visceral. 

No pushing, shoving, grunting, heaving as he had experienced before with men he had fucked. 

He supposed this was different but he didn't know why.

He just liked to come here at night and watch John dance.

#

Then fuck his fist violently in the filthy men's loo afterwards, Johns name on his bite-swollen lips.

#


End file.
